


So What's It Going To Be?

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: White Collar Discussions [20]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi, Unreal Expectations?, Unspoken Promises, emotional angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22389376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Neal’s tenure on the anklet is coming to an end. Now he and Peter find themselves having to make some tough decisions about the future. Who was being unrealistic with their vision of the years to come?Set during White Collar’s last Season Six
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Series: White Collar Discussions [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472945
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	So What's It Going To Be?

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon with bright sunshine reflecting off the glass of highrise buildings on the nearby skyline. Peter had just traversed the Brooklyn Bridge on his way to Manhattan, just as he did almost every morning while on his way to the Federal Building. However, today was different. He was off the clock and he was going to pay an impromptu call on his confidential informant.

The FBI agent sat for a few minutes in his car and peered up at June’s imposing mansion. Her home looked like a sophisticated old matriarch from another era, a proud survivor from days gone by when entitled elite members of New York’s high-society threw lavish cocktail parties and discussed Prohibition, jazz, and novels like _The Great Gatsby_. If Peter let his mind wander, he could picture the indomitable Ms. Ellington in a slinky dress with shimmying fringe and egret feathers in her hair. Peter found himself smiling and thinking that although Byron Ellington had been a scoundrel, he had been one lucky son of a bitch to have June by his side. Then Peter mentally admitted that he was lucky, too, because Neal had been by his side for almost four years, and lately their relationship had morphed into something intimate and fulfilling.

Peter had his own key to the house, so he let himself in through the foyer and then laboriously ascended three flights of stairs. He still wondered how the now older homeowner managed the climb, and why on earth she hadn’t added an elevator. He finally decided it was stubborn pride, and he could certainly understand that trait.

Of course, Neal was home; his tracking monitor had told Peter that before the agent ever left his own house in Brooklyn. When Peter quietly opened the door to Neal’s loft, he discovered the young man standing on some plastic sheeting out on the shaded patio with an, as yet, unidentifiable torso of clay balanced on a pedestal before him. Neal looked as if he had just recently tumbled out of bed with disheveled dark hair that hung down in his eyes. He was barefoot and clad in tight black track pants that hugged his round ass, and an oversized, paint-spattered undershirt that hid everything else. He had an expression of deep contemplation on his face and didn’t turn when Peter whispered a soft, “Hey.”

Instead of any acknowledgement, the toiling artist merely let his creative hands continue to massage lumps of white clay before smoothing them into place. It was almost sensual to watch Neal wet his long, slender fingers with water so that he could stroke and mold the intricate planes of an inanimate body. Peter found himself getting erotically turned on. He toed off his own shoes and went to stand on the tarp behind the engrossed artisan and wrapped his arms around the lean, toned body. He let his lips find the side of Neal’s neck and nipped at the hot spot beneath the young man’s ear.

“What’s it going to be?” Peter purred.

He felt Neal shrug. “I haven’t decided yet. It’s still a work in progress.”

Peter let his hands slide under the flimsy undershirt so that they could travel slowly up and down the taunt ripped muscles. Neal’s body was warmly tantalizing and Peter’s erection was growing to the point of discomfort.

“Neal,” he breathed out softly, “you paint when you’re contented and calm. You sculpt when you’re unhappy or angry. What’s going on in your head right now?”

Neal snorted. “That just shows how much you _don’t_ know about me, Peter.”

“Then enlighten me and set the record straight,” Peter murmured as he let his wandering hands delve lower beneath the stretchy waistband of Neal’s athletic pants. Big surprise—Peter’s sexy CI had decided to go commando that morning, which granted the randy federal agent fondling access to the finer aspects of his body.

Neal didn’t immediately rise to the occasion, and Peter felt a bit of disappointment. Perhaps he needed to work a little harder to get a contrary artist in the mood, so he began to squeeze and stroke the soft, intimate skin.

“I’m kind of in a zone, Peter,” Neal protested, “and you’re distracting me.”

Peter sighed. “Well, I’m sort of in a zone, too, Neal, but obviously we’re not in sync. Maybe we need to talk something out. So, what’s the impetus behind this sculpting. Tell me what’s making you upset or angry?”

Neal huffed out a sigh and slid an exasperated glance in Peter’s direction. “I am not angry, _Mr. Know It All_. When I’m pissed off, I work in marble so that I can take out any pent-up hostility by slamming a hammer onto a chisel. I work in clay when I’m trying to unravel a knotty problem. The answer sort of emerges when the time is right and I can visualize the finished product.”

“Can we talk about your crisis of the soul a little later?” Peter begged as he tugged on Neal’s body to lead him back inside the loft.

Peter’s target was the tiger oak bed, but throbbing need trumped comfort. He got as far as the night table with his reluctant burden, and quickly snatched the lube from the top drawer. Neal wasn’t actually resisting him, but he certainly wasn’t making it easy to maneuver. So, in a desperate fashion, Peter simply bent Neal over the bed, pulled down both their pants, and proceeded to act out his burning desire.

As always, the older man was amazed that he reveled in this kind of sex as fiercely as he did. It should have been an arcane, forbidden world for him, so unlike his traditional relationship with El. However, perhaps Elizabeth was wiser than her husband and recognized a covert longing well before her better half could even put a name to it. Although she never seemed to desire making the phenomenon a threesome, El was happy that her husband was completely fulfilled, and very thankful that he always came home to her. Besides, Elizabeth really liked Neal, maybe even loved him in her own way. Her husband and Neal shared a secret, but she was in on it, so she was okay being a complicit accomplice.

On this particular afternoon, Peter’s reluctant partner finally did respond to the urgent fucking and each participant reached a climax with a panting shout. The older man turned the younger one around so that he could give him a deep kiss, and he felt Neal’s gritty fingers clasp his shoulders tightly as small flakes of dried clay fell to the floor around them.

“We made a mess on the hardwood,” Neal observed wryly when he came up for air and glanced down.

“Yep,” Peter agreed with a self-satisfied smirk, “in more ways than one. Not that I’m complaining, but maybe the second time around you could wash the annoying dried minerals off your hands and we could actually get into the bed.”

“Are you really sure there will be an encore?” Neal teased.

“I certainly am, if there is any truth to that old saying of mind over matter,” Peter chuckled.

Apparently, Peter’s determined mind was in overdrive, because there was, indeed, an erotic encore an hour later. Now, two satiated lovers lay, side by side, in a post-coital haze. Peter relished the intimate moment, but he knew he had to address the nagging little gremlin gnawing at his insides.

“Tell me what kind of dilemma you’re struggling with in your mind, Neal. You’ve only got four more months left on your tracking anklet, so things should be looking pretty rosy for you right now.”

“Maybe that’s the problem, Peter,” Neal admitted softly. “There’s a light at the end of the tunnel and I have to decide what to do when I step into the sunshine again.”

Suddenly, a cold hand gripped Peter’s gut, and he knew he needed to tiptoe through a possible minefield. “You could stay on with the Bureau, Neal. Hughes made it clear that he’d pay you a decent salary as an actual consultant.”

Neal smiled wryly. “I don’t think that’s who I want to be, Peter. I had to play that role for four long years, and it wasn’t always easy being a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. I’m so done with the FBI.”

“Working with me wasn’t so bad, was it?” Peter asked apprehensively. Maybe he should have been asking Neal, “Was I just a mark to you so that you could manipulate the scenario to get what you wanted?” It wasn’t as if that troubling thought hadn’t occasionally caused Peter to lose sleep. He could never pin down a plausible reason why a suave, urbane and handsome con man had chosen to submit to a middle-aged, fashion-impaired G-man. Was their relationship some kind of personal undercover op for Neal where he was playing a part? Was his smile real or the one he layered over his features when he was being a consummate con man and slick thief?

“Neal, please explain the real dynamic between us, because sometimes I’m at a complete loss when I try to understand it,” Peter murmured as he stared into those fathomless blue eyes, afraid that what he might see was only what Neal wanted him to see.

“Peter, to be honest, maybe the here and now—us, right in this moment in time—is the only thing that is real and not an illusion. But as for the Bureau, well, I always felt like I was your appendage rather than my own person,” Neal admitted sadly. “Now, I can finally get to be the real me, but I’m not quite sure who Neal Caffrey is anymore. After all the years I spent on a forced hiatus from my life, I may not be able to recognize myself.”

“The real Neal Caffrey is a good person with a kind and caring heart,” Peter said firmly. “That’s who I fell in love with all those months ago.”

“Is that what this thing is between us? Is it really love?” Neal whispered softly.

“To me it is,” Peter replied steadily. “Please don’t tell me at this late date that you felt coerced into this relationship because of the power I held over you, and that was the only reason you let it continue.”

“Of course not, Peter,” Neal sought to calm his bed partner. “I willingly entered into a sexual liaison with you because I wanted it as much as you did. But to be frank, I’m just not sure that I’m capable of truly feeling an emotion as profoundly deep as love.”

“You once loved Kate with your whole heart and soul, Neal. Tell me I’m wrong!” Peter demanded.

Neal winced. “That was an entire lifetime ago in a much less complicated era of my existence. I was young and stupid and gave my heart away, and just look where that innocent and earnest gesture got me.”

“So, are you afraid that I’ll hurt you, Neal?” Peter asked sadly. “Is that what this is?”

“Maybe I’m projecting my own insecurities onto you,” Neal replied thoughtfully. “I just know in my heart that I’m not sure that I can ever be what you want me to be, and the last thing I want to do is disappoint you and have you hate me. Perhaps one day it will come down to a choice, and you won’t pick me because I’m not important enough in your life, or I’m unable to fulfill your lofty expectations.”

Peter sighed. “Neal, I truthfully don’t have any preconceived idea of what I want you to be except who you are. If you change your persona, I’ll still care about you and probably continue to love you just as I always have. Give me some credit for being flexible with my attitude.”

“What if I’m suddenly in the wind, Peter?” Neal asked quietly. “Are you going to continue to carry a torch for a phantom?”

“Are you planning to leave New York?” Peter asked evenly, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“Maybe—probably, at least for a time,” Neal confessed. “I’ve had my wings clipped for so long, I need to learn how to fly again—maybe even soar. I have to find myself, Peter. Can you understand that?”

“Are you sure you can’t find the real Neal Caffrey right here in New York?” Peter asked longingly.

When Neal just shrugged helplessly, Peter continued to plead his case. “Neal, you deserve to revel in your hard-fought freedom. You’ve earned it in spades. I just have one question—am I included in whatever your new life turns out to be, or am I just a person relegated to a category of someone you once knew?”

“Before I answer that, let me ask my own question,” Neal replied. “Would you come to _me_ if I found myself in London, Paris, Florence, or even Timbuktu? Would you uproot yourself and El to be with me? If it’s love we’re talking about, that’s what a truly devoted lover would do. Right now our relationship is defined by the four walls of my apartment. Can it ever be more? Can we ever dare to live in the real world?”

“That’s not really a fair question,” Peter objected.

“Why not?” Neal wanted to know.

Peter was suddenly stymied. Maybe Neal was right. Why should he expect a young man to shape the rest of his life around someone who wasn’t willing to make any of his own concessions or take any risks. The disturbing question drove home a point with crystal clarity. Peter had come to relish whatever this thing was between them, and he cavalierly expected that their continuing relationship would be all one-sided with Neal contorting himself into a presentable entity that those in Peter’s world found acceptable. But, love shouldn’t depend on changing another person. It should be about supporting and caring for another individual, no matter where they called home or whatever distant path they chose to take. If you truly loved someone, you wanted to be a part of their life in any and every way.

“So, what’s it going to be, Peter?” Neal whispered softly.

After a long tension-filled moment, the former con man was gratified to witness Peter’s warm and comforting smile. Neal’s lover didn’t actually say, “Give me your hand and I’ll never let go.” But maybe that reassuring smile should be all the answer the worried young man needed. Perhaps the future was going to take care of itself, and eventually there would be a niche for a reborn Neal Caffrey.

However, the unspoken, only alluded to commitment still niggled at an ardent lover’s brain. Neal wondered if he was again falling into the trap of being naively smitten and trusting. Would staying with Peter be like sinking into a morass of quicksand that would drag him down and obliterate who he was? Neal knew he was the quintessential poster boy for ill-fated romantic relationships—Kate, Sara, Rachel Turner. His love life was a parody of a Greek tragedy. Maybe, in time, the ultimate end of his and Peter’s story would be different when it unraveled itself to reveal their roles. Nevertheless, Neal couldn’t stop himself from wondering if he should be hopeful or afraid of something that still seemed to be a work in progress.

Some months later, circumstances changed whatever that future might have been.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Pink Panthers—it really didn’t get any bigger or more dangerous in the criminal world, and Neal was determined to drag Peter into the thick of it. Peter saw the outrageously brash caper for what it was—a Hail Mary pass that Neal had lofted far down the field because he saw this challenge as his last chance at freedom. Peter was excited but terror-stricken by the dire possibilities. The Panthers were an international group of savage psychopaths who had no problem over the years leaving a trail of bodies behind them. Add Matthew Keller to the mix, and the results could be catastrophic. 

Peter felt no small amount of guilt for Neal believing that risking his life was the only way he could regain and preserve his freedom. The duplicitous Federal Government was as evil and deceitful as the worst criminals. They had kept dangling carrots in front of a paroled felon so he would continue to perform like their trick pony. Neal felt used and abused when they reneged on their commitment to cut him loose, and this new sting would finally bring the curtain down on the carnival show. Thanks to Mozzie, Neal’s eventual salvation was all written down in black and white in a tome that rivaled Tolstoy’s _War and Peace._ If it was ignored, the Bureau would wind up doing a lot of tapdancing in the harsh light of the public eye because Mozzie would make sure to splash the deceitful travesty across every newspaper and social media site to discredit one of the polestars in the DOJ’s universe. Miscarriage of justice would be on everyone’s lips, and government conspiracy proponents would take it up as their new cause. 

The only comforting thing for Peter right now is that he will be in on the dangerous charade so that he could watch Neal’s back. Unfortunately, the closeness they once shared, both mentally and physically, had recently waned in direct proportion to Neal’s disappointment and disenchantment with anyone connected to the system. Peter hoped that, although their intimate bond may have been temporarily weakened, ultimately, it would hold and endure. He desperately wanted a new kind of future for both of them as well as for El. It couldn’t end in some abandoned, dirty industrial building or at a nearby airport while Neal engineered a brilliantly innovative theft of the government’s money. When Peter gave it some thought, he found the heist to be satisfyingly ironic and almost prophetic. 

Peter felt like a voyeur as he watched Neal transform himself into the consummate con man with nerves of steel in the face of danger as Keller hovered like a quixotic, hungry vulture. Nonetheless, Neal seemed competent and self-assured while playing in the big leagues, never displaying a tic, a twitch, or any underlying tenseness in his loose posture. He could talk the talk and walk the walk, and Peter felt as if this was a stranger he was meeting for the first time rather than the warm and inviting lover who had titillated and fulfilled his handler over the past year. Maybe that fear of not really knowing Neal overrode Peter’s dread of the Pink Panthers. Did he even recognize the real Neal Caffrey behind the mask? But, the die had been cast and it was too late in the game for second thoughts. Unfortunately, the “game” and Matthew Keller proved to be treacherous and deadly. With all his sleight of hand and brilliant expertise, when the day ended, Neal had indeed gained his freedom and made his exit, but it was in the most permanent of ways. 

**Author's Note:**

> Only two more stories in this long anthology which somehow has grown to 22 installments. The final fictions will ultimately reveal the future of our beloved characters. Of course, these are both AU fictions that extend beyond the finale of the actual White Collar series.


End file.
